


Prompt Ficlet

by Salambo06



Series: Tumblr Collection [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drug Use, Fluff, Grief, Honeymoon, M/M, Mini Fic, New Relationship, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parentlock, Post TAB, Sleep talking, They get a dog, ansgt, mention of drug use, proposal, secret admirers, text
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-05-13 10:07:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 8,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5703730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salambo06/pseuds/Salambo06
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of mini fic based on Tumblr Prompt<br/>I will add tags as I post the ficlet.<br/>Rating may change!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Things you said at the kitchen table

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbeated so don't hesitate to tell me if you spot any mistake !  
> [My Tumblr](http://letthechoirsing.tumblr.com/)

“Oh good, you’re awake,” John smiles when Sherlock enters the kitchen. “I’ve made breakfast.” 

Sherlock sits down in front of his empty plate, his eyes fixed on John. He’s already dressed up, jeans and shirt, and his hair is still damp. Oh right, it’s Tuesday, he’s doing the morning shift at the clinic. Sherlock ignores the sudden spark of disappointment that invades him and closes his dressing gown more firmly around his waist. 

“Slept well?” John asks, his back turned to him as he roasts the bacon.

Sherlock hums in response, not trusting his voice at the moment. He hadn’t slept so soundly for weeks, and John’s warm body next to him all night had helped quite a lot. He watches as John shakes his head before turning around, a fond smile on his lips, “I slept fine, in case you were wondering.” 

He giggles as Sherlock rolls his eyes, and serves him. The familiar smell of shampoo and cologne surrounds Sherlock for a brief moment before John walks away, sitting down on the chair facing him. He begins to eat, talking about the surgery he has this morning, but Sherlock isn’t really listening. There are John’s hands, right in front of him and Sherlock can still feel their imprint on his body. His skin is still sensitive where John had dug his fingers, leaving marks he had then ravished with his mouth and tongue. There is John’s compact torso, hidden but right here, for Sherlock to stare at, remembering the way it had slid against his own the night before. 

There are John’s lips, full and right within his reach, and _god_ , Sherlock wants to kiss him.

“Sherlock, are you alright?” 

“Was yesterday a one night occasion?” He asks all of a sudden, trying to calm his quickening heartbeat as John’s eyes found his. He had spent years trying to figure out John’s feelings, and Sherlock isn’t sure he can still torture himself after last night. 

“Sherlock,” John puts down his fork and knife, and gets up. He stops beside him and leans down, cupping his face. “I thought I made it quite clear last night. I wanted to be with you for a long time and after what happened yesterday, I plan on keeping you close for as long as I can.” 

He kisses him and Sherlock loses himself in the heat of John’s mouth once again. It’s over too soon, and John brushes their lips together one last time before going back to his chair. He resumes eating, his feet resting against Sherlock’s. 

“You do know I love you, right?” John asks after a moment, and Sherlock smiles, warmth spreading throughout his chest. 

He nudges their feet together, “Obviously.”


	2. Things you didn't say at all

**[Unsent] 01 :34**

Were you actually asking me out earlier? I need to be sure, I can’t think. SH

**[Unsent] 12:01**

Where are you? I need you to cook the carbonara you did last time. SH

**[Unsent] 23:39**

Stop pacing and come downstairs. I can play the violin if you want. SH

**[Unsent] 09:26**

Mrs. Hudson is boring me to death. Come back. SH

**[Unsent] 15:56**

You have to promise me, swear that you’ll never leave my sight again. You need to stay with me, always. You can’t go out and find yourself attached to a bomb again. Never. You have to promise me, you have to

**[Unsent] 15:58**

If you die, I don’t know how I

**[Unsent] 06:45**

I like to wake up to the sound of you cursing in the kitchen. SH

**[Unsent] 16:30**

John, I think I

**[Unsent] 03:23**

I can’t sleep. Where are you? SH

**[Unsent] 13:38**

You have to realise she means absolutely nothing. You have to know. SH

**[Unsent] 07:59**

John, I’m certain. SH

**[Unsent] 04:37**

Sometimes I think you want this as much as I do, but I need you to be the courageous one John. I can’t risk it. SH

**[Unsent] 22:13**

Please, tell me you’ll forgive me one day. SH

 

**[Error] 23:00**

Sherlock, don’t be dead. JW


	3. Things you said at 1am

“It was the sister.” 

John smiles as he feels Sherlock’s lips moving against his the back of his neck, murmuring nonsense in his sleep. It has been a surprise, finding out that Sherlock talked while asleep, and an even bigger one to realise he also responded to questions. The first few weeks John had asked about everything and anything, and laughed in the morning when Sherlock had sulked and groaned.

Now, listening to Sherlock’s mumbling helped him to fall asleep like nothing else. 

“She was jealous, she killed hlm,” Sherlock continues. “She was stupid.”

John laughs and Sherlock shifts closer, the arm around John’s waist tightening. He waits for another comment on their latest case, but Sherlock seems to have finished. John closes his eyes again, enjoying the warmth of Sherlock’s chest against his back and his soft breath on his skin. 

“John.” John jumps, Sherlock rolling to his back behind him. He turns around and attaches their bodies again quickly.  
“I’m going to ask him to marry me.” 

John smiles, resting his head on Sherlock’s chest, “You did.”

“He’s going to be my husband.” 

“I will.” He kisses Sherlock’s collarbone, breathing in the familiar scent and closes his eyes. Sherlock stays silent for a moment and John is slowly lulled back to sleep. Then, in a whisper, Sherlock adds, “I hope he will say yes.” 

John raises his head, staring down at Sherlock’s sleeping face and leans in to kiss him carefully, not wanting to wake him up. “Of course I did, you idiot,” he brushes their lips together one last time before settling back.


	4. Come over here and make me

They’re fighting.

It seems like they always end up arguing these days. John isn’t sure why. He has been back at 221B for two months now and the first few days Sherlock had been silent, careful even. He didn’t play his violin in the middle of the night or use their food for his experiments. John did not like this version of Sherlock and he was relieved when he woke up to the sound of Sherlock yelling at Lestrade over the phone. John only wanted things to be normal again.

Or at least as normal as they could be.

“You can’t just tell people what to do and expect them to listen!” he says for the third time.

“Why not?” Sherlock replies, looking at John as if he was the most idiotic person on earth. “I’m right! They should listen!”

“That’s not what people do!”

“Then it’s boring!” Sherlock declares, storming off to the living room.

John lets out a loud sigh, trying to control his temper. He doesn’t want to fight again. He wants them to find their way back to what they were before. Before Sherlock deceived him. Before he had gone away and married an assassin. Before he had tried to forget about _what might have happened_ or _what would never be_. Because now that he’s back, John can’t help but hope. Hope for things to change, radically. But he hadn’t thought he would end up fighting with Sherlock every single day.

Sherlock is pacing now, his dressing gown flying behind him. He’s beautiful. John loves him like this. His curls bouncing with every step, his eyes piercing when he looks up at him and his cheeks redder than usual. John can’t look away. He wants to cross the room, force him to stop and kiss the anger out of him.

“Sherlock,” he finally says. “This is ridiculous.”

“John,” Sherlock snaps. “If you’re going to state the obvious, then do shut up.”

Before he can think twice about it, John takes a deep breath and says “Come over here and make me.”

Sherlock stops still. He doesn’t looks up at John, his eyes fixed on the floor. _We’re already arguing anyway_ , John thinks, and to be honest, he’s not sure how long he can go on like this.

“What did you say?” Sherlock whispers, still not looking at him.

“You heard me,” John replies, his heart pounding in his ears. _Please, Sherlock, understand._

Finally, after several seconds, Sherlock’s entire body straightens. His eyes find John’s, determined and a little bit scared. John doesn’t move. Not when Sherlock takes the first step towards him. Not when he exhales loudly, his eyes still not leaving his. Not when Sherlock is right in front of him.

They remain still.

Then, Sherlock leans in and John forgets how to breathe properly.


	5. I think I'm in love with you and I'm terrified

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one follows chapter 4 directly

John’s lips are still under his and for a second Sherlock fears he has misunderstood John’s insinuation. But just as he is about to stop and pretend this never happened, John’s hand grips his dressing gown, pulling him closer and finally, _finally_ , John kisses him back. It’s chaste, even tender and Sherlock can swear his chest is going to explode. 

He lingers for another minute, brushing their lips together before pulling away. John’s eyes are closed, his tongue darts out to lick his lower lips and Sherlock’s chest tightens. 

“I’m so angry, John,” he whispers, his voice too loud in the quiet room, and John frowns as he opens his eyes. 

Just as he’s about to reply, Sherlock cuts him off with another kiss. “So angry at myself,” he continues, “for letting my body take control of my mind, for letting sentiment take over reason.” He feels John tense in his arms, looking away as he tries to step back but Sherlock holds him close, “No, you don't understand. I'm angry because it clouded my judgement. I couldn't deduce anything about you anymore. All the lingering looks, the casual touches and people’s assumptions. I didn't know what to think, what to trust. My mind told me they were clear signs of affection and even attraction, but my heart, John.” 

He stops, inhaling deeply and this time it's John who kisses him. His lips first, then his cheek, nose and chin. 

“I'm angry because I'm not brave enough. I'm angry because I nearly you lost too many times. I'm angry because I couldn't keep you safe. I'm angry because you suffered from my actions.” John’s eyes are fixed on him, bright and full of love, and Sherlock is not sure he will ever earn what he sees in them. “I'm angry, John, because even now I have no idea what to do, what to expect or how to make sure you will never leave.”

Sherlock pauses, considering his next words. “I'm angry. But I'm mostly terrified,” he murmurs, closing his eyes. “I think I'm in love with you and I'm terrified.”

He feels John rest his forehead against his, his breath soft again Sherlock’s lips, “Me too, Sherlock. All of it.” He cups his face, thumbs stroking Sherlock’s cheeks, “All of it.”


	6. “Hey! I was gonna eat that!”

“Hey! I was gonna eat that!” John exclaims, watching in disbelief as Sherlock takes the last piece of cake.

“Trust me, you didn’t want to eat it.” Sherlock smirks and bites down the lemon cake.

“What are you implying?” John smiles, “That I’m fat?”

“You’ve gained two pounds in the last three months.” Sherlock replies, licking the whipped cream on his lips. 

“I was stressed,” John defends himself, ‘“I eat when I’m stressed.”

“There were no reasons for you to be stressed, John.” 

“I had all the reason you mean!” John laughs, putting his feet on the coffee table. He rests his head on Sherlock’s shoulder and lets out a content sigh, “Beside, aren’t you suppose to never eat anything?”

“That’s why I can afford a third piece of cake.” Sherlock explains, settling more comfortably on the sofa. 

“Third?!” 

“It was a good cake.” Sherlock smiles, “I even saw Mycroft eat some and you how much he hates to eat cake in front of me!”

John giggles and he lets his fingers trails over Sherlock’s hand, “Yes, it was a good cake and a good day. A very good day.”

Sherlock kisses his temple, his lips lingering on John’s skin.

“But still,” John adds, intervening their fingers, “you could have left me that piece. I’m your husband now, aren’t suppose to put my needs first?”

“Well, I can think of some other needs of yours right now,” Sherlock smirks, sliding their joined hands up John’s thighs. 

“So very clever.” John smiles and raises his head to capture Sherlock’s offered lips.


	7. Things you said when I was crying

“Do you think he’s going to like my violin? I was thinking about composing, maybe several songs just for him. I know you like it when I play for you, it helps you. Maybe it could be the same for him.”

You let your finger slide against his cheek, soft and warm.

“I could write one for the long evenings, when he won’t sleep. Something light, not too many notes, repetitive. I’ve read that repetition can help you calm down, your brain register a pattern and you instinctively wants to follow it. Surely it will works for him too.”

You move your finger through his hair, or rather the lack of it.

“Then I could compose a song for when he’ll cry. Joyful, rhythmic so it can hold his attention, make him focus on something else. Who knows, maybe he’ll start to cry just so I will play his song. Actually, I should create a worksheet and keep track of why he’s crying.”

He moves in yours arm, throwing his head back a little before settling back against your chest. 

“Maybe I should also think of a song for when he’s bored. Because he will be, staying home all day. Probably a song with lots of variation, never in the same order so it will keep him guessing and busy. In fact, I may need more than one song for this purpose.”

You rest your hand on his back and watches as it raises with every breath.

“He also should have his song, just like you have yours. I could play it to him while he eats, or plays or even when he’s being fuzzed over by Mrs. Hudson. I’m certain that with time he’ll realise what his song really means, all the unsaid words it holds. You did figured out about yours after all, John.” You pause, “I really hope he’ll like my violin.”

You turn to me, “John, why are you crying?”

“I love you, Sherlock Holmes, and this child is very lucky to have you as a father.”


	8. Things you said when you were drunk[/high]

“Sherlock, why are you doing this?”

Sherlock sighs and he tries to stand up. The room spins and he lies back on the sofa, closing his eyes.

“As always John, you see, but you do not observe.”

John is pacing, three steps per seconds. He’s worried, obviously, but there's something else.

“Then tell me,” his voice is too low for Sherlock’s still fuzzy brain, “what should I observe?”

“You see the needle and immediately think I'm somehow trying to work out a case. You don't observe the empty walls and closed laptop.” Sherlock pauses, considering his next words. Maybe it's because of the drugs still running through his veins, or the weight of long years spent hiding, but it suddenly seems like the right time. “You see me, lying there, half awake and you worry. You worry about my health, both physical and mental, but you don't seek for the right reasons.”

John stopped pacing, his eyes probably fixed on him but Sherlock keeps his closed.

“You don't see the missing chair, hear the silence or notice the added bullet holes in the walls. You look at this flat and think of your own. You remembers and smile, but I remember and go look for a fix.” Sharp intake of breath, John is closer than Sherlock had thought. “You see John, but don't observe how your absence resonates in the entire room.”

“Sherlock.” He's close, Sherlock can feel his warmth next to him.

_I've found him like this._

“Sherlock, look at me.” He’s leaning above him, his breath caressing Sherlock’s face.

_I didn't know who to call._

“Sherlock.” A whisper, and then lips against his.

_“John?”_

_“Sherlock.”_

_Why is Mrs. Hudson here?_

_“John is not here, remember? The honeymoon?”_

_John._


	9. "Wait a minute. Are you jealous?"

“Wait a minute.” John glances up, his smile growing wider as he catches Sherlock looking away, “Are you jealous?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, John.” Sherlock snaps, taking his computer back and sitting down on the sofa.

“You are!”

Sherlock rolls his eyes, already typing way too fast and John can’t help but to laugh again. He should have known, really. Only Sherlock could react like this.

“May I remind you that you were the one who asked for him.”

“I did no such thing.” Sherlock defends himself, badly.

“Yes you did, love.” John stands up, a familiar pain in his legs. He shouldn’t have kneeled for this long. “You looked at him and made this ‘face’. You wanted him.”

“I don’t make a ‘face’, John.” Sherlock snaps again, but he lets John put his computer away and settle next him.

“If you say so.” John smiles.

“I know so.” 

John giggles again, but Sherlock cuts him with a kiss, chaste and over too quickly. “I’m not jealous,” he repeats against John’s lips.

“Fine, I believe you.” John feels more than he sees the puppy climbing on the sofa, trying to catch Sherlock’s attention by playing with his dressing gown. “Beside, I’m the one who should be jealous. He clearly likes you more than me.”

It’s Sherlock’s turn to laugh, catching the dark ball of fur before chasing John’s lips again.


	10. Things you said that I wasn’t meant to hear

Mycroft will be here any minutes now. He surely has received an alert the moment I set foot in London, his entire team ready to go. It must have taken him less than a second to guess where I am. Even Anderson could have guessed.

But I don't care. 

I needed to see you. It's been too long.

“Sherlock, I'm tired.”

Even with the distance I can hear the desperation in your voice. Your eyes are fixed on the ground. Look up, John. I just need to see your eyes.

“I can't do this. I don't know how.” 

Your voice had changed. I'm sure I like it. 

“Now would be a good time to come back and stop this nonsense. I'm not sure how long I can wait.”

John, look up, please. 

“Sherlock.” You pause. Your hands are shaking. “I beg you, don't be dead. They cleared your name. Come back. You can't die without knowing how much I-”

I ache to get closer. It could be so easy to step forward, make myself known and, finally, go back to you. You could come with me, and help me. You would follow me anywhere. You said so before.

It could be so easy.

“I refuse to accept this act of yours. It can't be. You can't just die, Sherlock. There is so much I need to tell you, to confess. Sherlock, please.” 

You are still looking down at the wet grass. Maybe you just can't face the tombstone. But I'm here, John. Look up. Look up.

I take a dangerous step forward. I don't care anymore. John.

“Sherlock, stop.” 

Less than two minutes. Impressive, even for Mycroft. 

“He’ll be in danger. You know it. Let's go.”

A little longer, John.  
Just a little longer.


	11. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one will be in several parts

Sherlock finds the first note, placed between page 101 and 102 of his chemistry textbook, a Monday morning. 

It reads, “ _I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don't notice._ ” 

Sherlock frowns, reads it a second time and tucks it away. He doesn't think about it again all day. 

Then, on Tuesday, between page 45 and 46 of his English textbook, he finds another note. Same handwriting, same paper. 

“ _To be honest, I like the way you look at me when you think I don't notice_.” 

This time, Sherlock takes a long look at the student in his class before putting the note in his pocket. Afterwards, he find it difficult to concentrate on anything all day.

As expected, the notes continue all week.

Wednesday, “ _Have you noticed when I look at you?_ ”

Thursday, “ _Did you figure it out already? Who I am? Let me give you a clue : I have an accomplice.”_

Friday, “ _Call me stupid, but I will miss you this weekend.”_

Over the weekend, Sherlock reads his five notes over and over. He tells himself he’s looking for clues, for the little thing that will give this idiot away. When he’s finished, he puts them back inside the box hidden behind his desk. 

Monday, “ _Maybe this week I’ll give another clue.”_

Tuesday, “ _I almost run into you this morning. Could have been my chance. Would you have even glanced at me?_ ”

On Wednesday there is no note. Sherlock cheeks all his textbooks, twice. 

Thursday, _“I was told you were worried yesterday. Missed me?”_

Friday, _“I hope you have. Because if there is one thing I'm sure of, it's that I can't stop thinking about you, Sherlock Holmes.”_

Sherlock tries, hard, to forget about the notes. For all he knows, it could a prank. Besides, secret admirers are beyond tedious, and clearly useless. Tomorrow he won't take a single textbook to class.

On Monday, the note is on his table, for everyone to see, when Sherlock sits in Maths class. “ _You won't get rid of me that easily, Sherlock.”_

Tuesday, back between page 34 and 35 of his French textbook, the note reads, “ _I was told you smile each time you read one of my notes. Do you know that I never saw you smile?”_

Wednesday, _“Would you still smile if I come talk to you?”_

Thursday, “ _Who am I kidding. You'll probably take one look at me and turn around. Who am I to hold your attention anyway?”_

Friday, “ _I've decided that on Monday I will give you my name. It's up to you whereas to look at my note or not. But come on, can't you deduce it?”_

Sherlock puts the note with the others and for the first time in three weeks he lies in bed and allow himself to think. The notes are always stuck in his textbooks, before his first class of the day. The person placing them acts quickly and has to be in Sherlock class. The notes are always on tiny bits a paper, ones that can be easily slipped inside his book without him noticing. 

If he had wanted to, he could have caught this person the first week. It was someone he was used to and so, someone he had stopped noticing. Someone who blends in, who could come close enough without being seen. Someone-

Yes, of course. 

When Monday arrives, Sherlock has a plan.


	12. "I think we need to talk."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of Chapter 11.

“I think we need to talk.” 

Molly jumps, her hand on her heart as she turns around to face him. At the very moment she looks up to him, Sherlock knows for sure he's right. There's no doubt. 

“Sherlock, how are you?”

She looks away, fumbling with her bag. 

“I know it's you.” Sherlock replies, stepping closer so she will have to face him again, “Now tell who's writing me these notes.”

“I… I don't know what you're talking about.”

“I know, Molly.” He repeats.

She sighs, “Fine, he said you'll figure it out at some point anyway.”

 _He_ , of course. The handwriting, the choice of words. It had to be a _he._

“He said to give you this,” Molly hands him another note, smiling. 

“Who is he?” Sherlock asks, taking the paper and trying to resist the urge to read it immediately.

“I can't tell you that.” She closes her locker, looking at him with smiling eyes, “Come one Sherlock, don't tell me you don't already know.”

She glances at the note, then back at him before walking away. Sherlock’s hand is shaking, his entire body feeling suddenly too heavy. It can’t be. Not when he had forced himself not to hope, not to expect too much this all time. 

_“Don’t tell me you don’t already know.”_

He could just read the note, get it over with. There so little chance it could actually be _him_. 

_“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”_

But what if? 

_“But come on, can’t you deduce it?”_

Molly puts the note in his textbook every morning, which means she meets up with this admirers right before school. Sherlock only needs to follow her tomorrow, catch them and ask them to stop. But then, today’s note may be the last one. 

Taking a deep breath, Sherlock puts the note in his pocket and go after Molly. She only just left, it won’t take time to find her. Sherlock is certain she went to see him, tell him that Sherlock has the final note. His heart is beating too quickly, his mouth dry as he spots Molly leaning against a door in front of him. She’s talking to someone inside the classroom. Someone Sherlock cannot see. 

But he doesn’t need to.

He knows this classroom. He knows who’s inside at this time of the day. He’ve passed before this door so often in the last few months that he can recite the tagged sentence written on the wall by heart and can tell the exact chair in which John Watson sits, his face turned towards the window and his fingers playing absently with his pencil. 

_“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice?”_

John Watson is his secret admirers.


	13. Soft smile

“You’re smiling.” John whispers against Sherlock’s lips, his right hand trailing further down his arm, before stoping on his wrist.

“So are you,” Sherlock replies, not opening his eyes. He’s warm here, snuggled against John, face to face in the comfort of their bed. 

He feels John’s smiles grows wider, “Am I now?”

“Yes,” he shifts closer, if possible, and tangles their legs together, “You have that particular smile, the one reserved for me.” 

“I have a smile for you?” 

John’s breath is hot against his face, his entire body pliant and trusting, and Sherlock realises he’s genially happy.

“Yes, you have. It’s a soft smile. It begins here,“ he kisses the right corner of John’s mouth, “and ends in the crinkle of your eyes.” 

He lets one of his finger trace the lines around John’s eyes, knowing them by heart now. He lingers there for a moment, before sliding down his cheeks, “Your entire face lightens, your eyebrows falling just a little.” 

He continues to explore John’s face, eyes still closed and their lips still brushing. 

“When I think about it now,” Sherlock murmurs, “this smile was the proof of your feelings since the very beginning.”

John’s smiles widen, the hand still on Sherlock’s wrist clenching a little harder. 

“Yes, it was.”

They remain silent for a moment, the slow sound of their breathing filling the small bedroom. Then, as his free hand finds his way to Sherlock’s hair, John adds, “You do know you have that exact same smile for me too, right?”

Sherlock laughs, and finally, _finally_ , John kisses him.


	14. Promise me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "OH MY GOD i want sherlock to cut john with a kiss while john is talking about something he's passionate about and sherlock just can't take it anymore he loves john so much that he needs to kiss him OR i want sherlock to cut john with a kiss while they're arguing. please i need this. any of it. pls"

“You can’t just run after a suspect like that Sherlock!”

“He was getting away!”

John slams the door behind him before throwing his coat on the sofa. He goes into the kitchen and Sherlock doesn’t need to follow him to know he’s making tea. He’s not sure he will ever understand why he always does. He never ends up drinking his tea anyway. Most of the time his cup grows cold while they continue arguing or, more to Sherlock’s liking, they make up against the nearest wall, table or bed.

The first few fights had scared Sherlock to death. They had come home from a case or a night out and Sherlock had done something, said something that had upset John. How was he supposed to know how to act? What to do to keep John here, with him? He had waited for John to come back from a walk or out of his bedroom, worrying if it was all over.

Then, with time and many more fights, Sherlock had learned to trust John. Trust him to come back and assure him that they were fine. Trust him to come to bed every night and show him just how much he loved him.

“Even if he was, you should have waited for me!” John continues as Sherlock removes his own coat and scarf. “You knew he was armed!”

“I had the situation under control!”

“That’s not the point, Sherlock!”

“Then tell me, what is the point?”

He joins him in the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe. John has his back turned to him, his shoulders tensed and his hands clenched at the counter. He’s really upset. He hasn’t spoken at all during the ride back to Baker Street, sitting as far as possible from him in the cab. Sherlock knows how much John hates it when he goes after a suspect alone, they’ve had this fight before. The truth is that Sherlock acts before he can think twice about it.

“The point, Sherlock,” John turns around, the kettle already forgotten, “is that I need to be there when you run off like this. I need to be there to protect you, to make sure you won’t get ambushed and killed.”

“John, I-”

“No, don’t!” He walks to Sherlock, stopping just in front of him, “I don’t want to hear your excuses. I know you can’t help it, and I know I’m asking a lot but you need to stop! I can’t watch you run away and not know how I will find you after!”

“I’m always careful, John.” Sherlock asserts, following John as he walks back towards the bathroom.

“We don’t have the same definition of careful, Sherlock. He knocked you out today!”

“And I’m fine!”

“I’ll be the judge of that, thank you!” He opens the bathroom door, probably thinking about checking Sherlock’s head for any injuries. “Now come in here.”

“I’m telling you, I’m fine.”

John stops, inhaling deeply as he turns to face him again. “If I can’t take care of you when you run off, then you’re going to bloody let me take care of you now!”

Before he can stop himself, Sherlock pushes him against the nearest wall and cuts him off with a kiss. For a moment John stays still, arms stuck in mid-air and his brows furrowed. Sherlock waits, knowing he may just have made him angrier. Then, slowly, John kisses back. It’s tender, more tender that Sherlock had expected. But he lets John takes control, lets him make sure he’s alright.

“John,” he whispers against his lips, “I’m fine.”

John sighs, his breath hot against Sherlock’s face. “You have to understand.”

“I’m sorry, I really am.”

“If you get hurt, Sherlock, if you die while I’m just meters away. I don’t know what I’ll do.” John rests his head against Sherlock’s shoulder, his arms circling his waist. “Believing you were dead broke me, I know how it feels. Now that we’re together, now that I know what it feels to have you entirely, it would kill me, Sherlock.”

“I promise you to try,” Sherlock whispers, “I’ll try to wait for you. But you have to know I never wanted to make you feel like this.”

“I know that,” John replies, straightening up to look at him. “I love you, Sherlock, and as much as I hate it, I know there will be days when the case will make you forget about the consequences, days when I will have to make sure you eat, sleep and stay safe. And I look forward to these days, because that’s why I love you. This part of you just as much as the others.”

This time John is ready when Sherlock seals their lips again, the urge to kiss this extraordinary man too strong to resist. The kiss is much more heated now, John biting at Sherlock’s lips until he parts them. John’s hands are sliding through his hair, tilting his head so he can deepen the kiss and Sherlock loves him, loves him, loves him.

“I thought you were bad at these things,” Sherlock smiles when they part and he feels the rumbles in John’s chest as he giggles.


	15. Coming home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For This anon's ask : "i want john to understand that sherlock only lets him to see this, vulnerable side of him. like, the drug use and his feelings and why he's done all those things. i want them to sort it out. either with or without talking with words, i want them to trust each other and have a real, emotional moment and i desperately want john to see how much he means to Sherlock"

221b is freezing when they arrive. John doesn't remember feeling that cold between these four walls before. Baker Street had always been welcoming, warm and comfortable. Even during their first winter together, when the heat had broken and they’d spent days in their chairs by the fire, John remembers feeling the warmth in his chest expanding to his entire body. 

John shrugs, looking around. A window is open. He wonders for a moment if Sherlock had forgotten to close it before going out but it can't be. He’d just spent the last week locked in some cell and John hasn't stepped foot in here since Appledore. Didn't feel right, coming here by himself, knowing Sherlock was being held for protecting Mary.

He laughs. _Mary. ___

__Sherlock turns to him, and John can't help but notice the sweat on his forehead and the still wide pupils. Anger fills him, strong, overwhelming. He clenches his fist by his side and looks away._ _

__“John.”_ _

__Sherlock’s voice is just above a whisper, but already too loud in the quiet living room. John doesn't answer, nodding towards the sofa for him to sit before walking to the bathroom. The emergency kit is still under the sink, open, as if John had last cleaned some wounds yesterday. _Well, I've only been gone a week_. One week since Christmas. One week since Magnussen. One week since he went back to Mary._ _

__Closing the kit abruptly, John goes back to the living room. Sherlock is now lying on the sofa with his eyes closed, his chest rising regularly. For a moment, John thinks he fell asleep. How many times did he find him like this, his body giving up after a long case or a particularly difficult day. How many times did he cover him, watching Sherlock’s relaxed features and wondering if he could get away with just one slide of his finger over his cheek, over his lips, over his pulse point._ _

__Sherlock's eyes snap open, finding John’s right away. _He’s not sleeping. He’s high.__ _

__Without a word, John goes to kneel by his side, rolling up Sherlock’s sleeve quickly. One single mark, still red and the vein prominent. He can feel Sherlock’s stare on him but he doesn't look up. There is no sign of infection. Sherlock had done it before after all._ _

__Anger, again._ _

__Sherlock tenses under his hands. He always knew how to read him. John's state of mind isn't hard to guess, even in his condition. At least Sherlock isn't trying to give him excuses. John is not sure he could have handle any more lies._ _

__“John.”_ _

__“Don't.” John breathes out, his eyes still fixed on Sherlock’s arm._ _

__He needs to make him eat something. The drug's effects are fading. _Let’s hope Mrs. Hudson has done some grocery shopping.__ _

__“How long?” He asks as he stands up, taking the emergency kit back to the kitchen._ _

__“Over six hours ago.”_ _

___So he was high at the Tarmac._ _ _

__He nods, “You need to eat. I'll make something.”_ _

__“I'm not hungry.” Sherlock says behind him, closer than John thought._ _

__“You shouldn't be up.”_ _

__“I'm fine, John.”_ _

__“No, you’re not.” John snaps, regretting it immediately. Sherlock stays quiet. “At least sit down.”_ _

__Sherlock complies without another word and John finds a sandwich in the fridge, handing it to Sherlock, “This should still be good.”_ _

__Sherlock takes a first bite, eyes locked on him. John sways on his feet for a second, taking in the light trembling in Sherlock’s hands. He will go into withdrawal soon. Closing his eyes, John inhales deeply, trying to calm his rapid heartbeat. Being angry won’t improve anything. Sherlock needs help, he needs to be taken care of._ _

__Grabbing the emergency kit, John walks to the bathroom without a word or a glance at Sherlock. He needs to calm down. He puts the kit away, then braces both hands on the sink, breathing slowly. How could he have missed it? Sherlock had killed a man, of course it would affect him. John should had been there, he should have insisted, forced Mycroft to take him to Sherlock. But no, instead he had gone back to play the happy couple with a woman he would never love again._ _

__“John?”_ _

__Sherlock’s voice is quiet, close, and John hears him approaching. He stops behind John, hesitating, and John’s entire body shivers when he feels Sherlock’s arms circling his waist. Sherlock steps closer, his head resting on John’s as he hugs him, neither of them saying a word._ _

__John isn't sure what to do, what to say, so he keeps his mouth shut and leans back into Sherlock’s embrace. There is no point in denying how much he had wanted to be held like this, to rest in Sherlock’s arms and never let go._ _

__“I'm sorry, John.” Sherlock whispers, his fingers stroking John’s stomach. “I'm so sorry.”_ _

__“You could have died,” John breathes out, weak, trembling. “Left me, again.”_ _

__“Never.”_ _

__“Don't say that. You can't know that.”_ _

__“Leaving you would kill me, John.”_ _

__Not able to resist anymore, John turns to face him. Sherlock steps back a little, not letting go of him and John’s breath catches. Sherlock’s eyes are sad, so very sad. He's smiling, but John hates that smile. It's weak, resigned. This is Sherlock showing the depth of his feelings, letting himself be true to John._ _

__“Sherlock.”_ _

__How could he have been so blind?_ _

__“I couldn't bear the thought of never seeing you again.”_ _

__Sherlock closes his eyes, letting his forehead rest against John’s. Sherlock’s breath is warm against his cheek. John lets his eyes fall shut too, and nudges their noses together._ _

__“I'm here,” he murmurs, his own arms around Sherlock's neck. “I'm here.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it :)


	16. Figuring it out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not actually a prompt, but a short ficlet I posted in my tumblr !
> 
> Enjoy :)

Sherlock comes back from Bart’s, talking to himself about the body Molly shown him when he notices the light burned smell in the flat and the open windows. He looks around but John is nowhere in sight. It takes him less than two seconds to deduce what happened, the burned food already in the trash and the pan left inside the sink. Sherlock is just about to take out his phone when the door opens, and John sighs loudly when he sees him inside the flat. 

“I though you were at Bart’s for entire afternoon.”

“Finished early,” Sherlock explains.   
John is avoiding his eyes, taking off his coat before going to sit at his chair. He’s not talking, and Sherlock goes to sit in front of him.

“John?”

“Can we not talk about it please ?”

Sherlock nods, biting his lower lips. He has no idea what he suppose to do, or even say. They’ve only been together for two months, two wonderful months, and Sherlock is still trying to figure out how everything works. He needs to be careful, needs to make no mistakes or John could leave.

“I can hear you think,” John remarks and Sherlock wants to laugh, wants to crawl on his laps and kiss John for hours. “Stop worrying.”

“I’m not worried.”

John puts down the news paper he’s been pretending to read and finally looks right at Sherlock’s eyes. 

“I wanted to make us a romantic diner, candle and all that, but I burned it.” John smiles, “But I’m sure you’ve already deduced it.”

Sherlock stays still, not wanting to either agree or lie.

“It was a stupid idea anyway,” John continues, sighing again.

“Angelo could have diner delivered here in less than thirty minutes,” Sherlock suddenly says, a knot in his stomach and his heartbeat quickening. 

“What?”

“Diner and candle, all of it.” Sherlock stops, looking down at his feet, “If you want to.”

“Sherlock I-”

“Forget it.” 

Sherlock stands up but before he can reach for the kitchen chair, John slides his arm around his waist, resting his forehead against Sherlock’s back.

“I was nervous you’ll hate it,” John whispers. “I wanted to make this diner for the last two weeks, tried to think of the best way to plan it and make the evening interesting enough for you.”

“John,” Sherlock says, one hand coming to rest over John’s on his stomach.

“Let me finish.” Sherlock nods, leaning back into John’s embrace, “I’m just as lost as you are, Sherlock. Yes, I have experience in relationships but none ended well, and I never loved any of them the way I love you. I can’t mess this up, can’t let you get bored with me.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Sherlock comments, turning inside John’s arms so they could face each other again.

“I desperately needs this relationship to work and I’m still trying to figure out how to ensure it.”

Sherlock cups John’s face with both hands, smiling softly, “I’d love to have a romantic diner with you.”

“You do?”

“I want everything with you, John Watson.”

John laughs and Sherlock can feel the rumbles of it against his chest. He lets one of his thumbs caress John’s cheek, the urge to kiss him overwhelming him again.

“I thought we were bad at talking about that kind of stuff,” John smiles, pressing their bodies closer together. 

“I guess that’s what people call learning,” Sherlock replies, eyes locked on John’s lips.

“Hmm,” John’s breath is a ghost against Sherlock’s mouth, warm and delicious. “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

Sherlock doesn’t wait for more and brush their mouths together, a light caress that makes his entire body shiver. John tightens his grip around Sherlock, moaning softly and Sherlock needs this moment to never end. He lets his tongue trace John’s upper lip, slowly, gently, before capturing it between his own. 

“You’re getting really good at it,” John whispers when they part, nipping at Sherlock’s lisp and jaw.

“I have a good teacher.”

“Is that so?” 

Sherlock can feel John’s smile against his skin and once again he can’t believe how lucky he is to know such an intimate caress.

“Yes,” he murmurs and John is kissing him again, more firmly, tongues meetings lazily.

The flat still smells of burned food, the cool air from outside making them both shiver but Sherlock couldn’t care less. John Watson is kissing him, holding him, loving him.


	17. things you didnt said at all (part 2)

**[Unsent] 00 :14**

I never though I could truly laugh again.

**[Unsent] 12:01**

Stop sending me picture of body parts when I’m at the clinic, it only makes me want to rush back home.

**[Unsent] 22:00**

I can’t sleep. Can you come and just talk to me?

**[Unsent] 17:13**

Where are you? I thought the case was an easy one? Do you need my help?

**[Unsent] 14:32**

I would have died there with you without any seconds thoughts. 

**[Unsent] 15:58**

What Moriarty said, what he implied, is it true?

**[Unsent] 23:45**

I want nothing more but to fall asleep to the sound of you violin every night

**[Unsent] 02:30**

I’m in love with you, you bloody idiot!

**[Unsent] 02:31**

So fucking in love with you

**[Unsent] 11:13**

Sherlock I need to know, I can’t leave the flat again and wonder if she takes you to bed and makes you beg as soon as I’m away. I can’t go one like this, I need to know

**[Unsent] 07:59**

Sherlock, please, talk to me

**[Unsent] 14:37**

I almost kissed you today. Maybe I should have

**[sent] 22:57**

Sherlock? 

**[sent] 22:59**

Sherlock? 

[ **Error] 23:00**

Sherlock, don’t be dead.


	18. Memories

“So, I’ve found a waterfall,’ John suddenly declared, Sherlock guessing the smile in his voice, “Care to take a look?”

Sherlock turned towards him, their hands still glued together and he felt John’s thumbs caressing the palm of his hand before letting go. Sherlock automatically clenched his fingers, trying to capture the remaining warmth of John’s hands in his. It’s still amazed him, this constant need of touching John, of being close, and even after two years of becoming more, of becoming what they were suppose to be since the very start, Sherlock can’t help but wonder if he will ever stop craving John’s touch. 

“It’s beautiful,” John continued, walking backward now, a knowing smile on his lips. “I’m sure you’ll like it.” 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and John laughed before disappearing behind some large trees. They had spent days trying to choose where they would go for their honeymoon. Sherlock hadn’t care much, but John had sat and searched the internet for hours, proposing to Sherlock all the possible destinations they could choose. “Maybe the United States, we could do a road trip and go annoy the local police”. “Or maybe Mexico, it’s sunny and I know you love mexican food”. “What about some island? No, you’ll get bored in less than a day”.“Sherlock, are you even listening to me?”. Sherlock had only smiled, looking up and assured John he was listening to each proposition. The truth was, Sherlock would have follow John anywhere.

When Sherlock finally manage to find John again, he was already removing his shirt and shoes at the same time. Sure, the waterfall was gorgeous, and the forest around them stunning, but right now Sherlock couldn't take his eyes off John. They were some new scars on his tanned skin now, scars that Sherlock had kissed and caressed for long hours, both of them whispering in the dark what they’d never manage to share before. In the last year, John had began to run again, three times a week and Sherlock had to bite his lips as he watched the muscles of John’s shoulder work with each movements. He was beautiful in away that Sherlock still couldn’t understand. 

Sherlock closed his eyes. He could hear the waterfall distinctly, had been able to since John had mentioned it, and a knot had formed in his stomach at the mere sound. It was stupid, really. It’s been years since he last thought about it but now flashes were coming back to him, his heartbeat quickening at the memories. He didn’t want to remember Moriarty, or even Mary. It was all over now. They were gone, out of their life. There was no need to worry anymore.

John was fine. John was safe.   
John was here. 

“Sherlock, are you coming?”

Sherlock opened his eyes again. John was looking back at him, wearing only his pants now and clearly waiting for Sherlock to take his cloth off too. Sherlock smiled, trying to make the question in John’s eyes go away. 

“Go ahead,” he replied, fingers working on his shirt, “I’m coming.”

Yes, Sherlock had once dreamed of a different waterfall.

But right now, there was a naked John Watson waiting for him in the clearest water he’d ever seen, and from now on, Sherlock intended to only remember this very moment.


	19. To you

I can’t explain it. 

I pride myself to be a writer, to always find the right words, the right sentences to capture a moment, a noise, a shadow. But in this very moment, I found myself speechless, all of the words out of my reach. Far from this instant, from this place, from us. I could write novels about you, Sherlock. I could sit in front of my computer and let the words flow, let all the unsaid thoughts find their way into reality, expose myself to the world and not care about it. I could, Sherlock, and maybe one day I will. But right now, this precise moment is ours. Ours only and in a strange way, I find myself hoping I’ll never find the right words to describe it. To describe you.

How could I describe the feeling of your skin against mine, the softness, the tenderness of ours bodies parting and coming together, over and over again, a never ending dance. One none of us really lead. Because I am lost, Sherlock. I am lost in the way you are looking at me, open, thrusting, welcoming me in every sense of the word. In this very moment I am your everything, your anchor, the only thing keeping at bay when you could so easily drift off. But this reality is fragile, ephemeral, and I’m afraid.

I’m afraid I might never be feel this complete again. 

With your legs around my waist, holding on, keeping me close, so very close. With your mouth next to my ear, your breathing hot and broken, moaning, gasping, calling my name. With the fire making your skin glow, my hands worshiping every inch of your body, discovering it again and again. With your fingers digging into my back, urging me to push deeper, to move faster, to keep going, like this, to never stop, there, _right there._

Here, in our home, I find myself falling in love again all over again.

So I tell you, I breathe the word into your skin, whispers my adoration, my addiction, my love and wish I could find a way to engrave them there, to make sure you know. Because you have to know, Sherlock. You have to understand that I gave my life to you on a sunny January afternoon and not once regretted it. So I tell you and your body respond for you, arching into my embrace, shivering under my touch, opening itself for me. 

_I love you, I love you, I love you_

I look down at you again, your eyes flickering close and your mouth hanging open to let out the most delicious sound as I keep thrusting into you slowly, so very slow. I can feel your cock, hard, between our bodies and I never felt more powerful, knowing I’m the source of the goosebumps in your skin, of the flush on your chest, of your rapid heartbeat against mine. I, John Watson, am the lover of a beautiful man.

And at this very moment, Sherlock, you are majestic.

You are the center of my world, the rest being reduced to silence. There’s only us. There’s only your voice as you beg me to go harder, to touch you, to make you come and I comply. I close my fist around your erection and let you take what you want from me, let you sink further down on my cock and bring yourself to an unspeakable orgasm. I let you take all of me, knowing I already have all of you.

I look at you, Sherlock, and can’t explain what I’m feeling. I look at you and increase my pace, drive into you a little harder, a little faster and you let our world explode, let it shatter into pieces, let it combust entirely. I look at you and I know nothing will ever compare to this, to a quiet evening by the fire,

to your voice whispering in my ear,

to your skin against mine,

to your lips,

to you

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comment are very appreciated :)


End file.
